


Priority

by murg



Category: Deadly Premonition | Red Seeds Profile
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Codependency, Jealousy, Mental Health Issues, Other, Protectiveness, Spoilers, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 08:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20111962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murg/pseuds/murg
Summary: They’re always looking out for each other. Of course. They’re best friends, after all. But York knows, at the end of the day, he’s the one who has to protect Zach.No matter what.





	Priority

**Author's Note:**

> Found this in my drafts folder.

Getting his car back is both comforting and strange. Clearly the General didn’t fiddle too much with the upholstery during his repairs; fossilized cigarette butts line the cupholders, an ancient coffee stain on the passenger seat remains the same inky shade of ochre, and all his CDs are still clumsily shoved into the glove compartment.

Well, his and Zach’s CDs. There’s even a few he doesn’t remember purchasing, he notes as he sifts through them. A lot of CDs, most of which he hasn’t listened to in a long time.

Oh, this one. The plastic case is cracked, but that’s a sign of love. He’d fumbled opening it one-handed tons of times while on the road. Not that it was his favorite album, by any means. He was neutral on it, but it certainly was the soundtrack of a season.

“This is one of your favorites,” he mutters. “Summer of 2005. Remember that? You were obsessed with this album. I don’t think we turned on the radio for a solid month. I took Clara for a spin in my car--on July...twenty-sixth, I think--and it was still playing. I didn’t bother to turn it off, either. Just let it play, the whole time. I guess it sort of became like white noise. Man, you sure loved it, though, didn’t you?”

Zach and he have always had disparate tastes in most things, but not so much that it’s intolerable. They’re just different. That album’s okay. He never minded listening to it, back then.

“We should listen to it again, sometime,” he says, looking up. The General sits in his lawn chair, scowling at the air. What a strange old man. He’s got some surprising depth, despite his attitude. Then again, most people have something surprising about them. That’s what makes people interesting, after all. Secrets. “What do you think, Zach?”

He shuffles the rest of the CDs together into a jumbled tower and crams them back into the glove compartment. The cracked case sits on his knee, album art faded along the creased edge. Zach used to like Track 4 best, didn’t he? York can’t say for certain.

“Feels strange to listen to it now,” he murmurs. “Not the right mood. You agree, right? Maybe after all this is done.”

This music is meant for blasting while roaring down a highway at 80 miles an hour. Not exactly fit for Greenvale traffic.

Track 4, that’s right. That summer, it became their song, after a fashion. The sort of kitschy thing teenage girlfriends and boyfriends share. “We listened to this a lot. I can’t remember the last time we did, though. Maybe a year ago? Huh.”

A warm knot settles in his chest, thinking about it. He chuckles, shaking his head. They’ve had a lot of great times together, over the years. Zach is definitely the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Of all the people in the world, York doubts he could find anyone who could be a better friend and partner. Zach is a one in six-billion case, definitely.

“Either way,” he continues, patting idly at his cigarette pack in his pocket, “we should reorganize all those CDs, don’t you think? Listen to a few. Maybe we’ll find a soundtrack for this investigation. --Um, something a little light, I think. To offset the grim nature of this case. That sound good to you, Zach?”

Maybe. They’ll just have to see what they’ve got. York doubts they’ll have much luck finding any new music in Greenvale stores, let alone music to his and Zach’s tastes. Then again, Keith is a clear rockabilly, so he might have a music supply, as it were. He should ask Keith. That’s a good idea, Zach.

A car slowly makes its way down the road, heading toward the junkyard. Emily’s car, he notes. Bad news? Good news? “Maybe I should get out of the car, to greet her,” he says, setting the CD case on the passenger seat. “Mm? Well, if you’d rather stay put, Zach. That’s fine.”

He watches Emily climb out of her car and cross the street. She really is pretty, isn’t she? So pretty, it’s concerning. In this context, at least. She’s much prettier than Anna, he thinks absently.

“Agent York,” Emily says, her eyes giving their cursory slither over his forehead. She always looks at him like he’s got something on his face. All the townspeople do. Well, except George. George never looks him in the eye, though. Secretive. A lot of people in this town are secretive, for whatever reasons.

That’s a Zach thought, he notes with some humor. Something Zach would say with nervous energy at night, while they’re lying in the hotel room. Everything at its own pace, Zach. Rushing just leads to bad data and worse conclusions.

He should take Zach fishing, tomorrow. That would be a good way to reorient their approach. No sense getting worked up. Zach may be their guiding force, but he operates best when they’re both calm. Calmness is certainly more York’s department. He’s learned to be calm enough for both of them.

“Emily,” he replies, inclining his head. “How can I help you?”

She makes an aborted expression. Mm.

Emily’s been a little strange with him, lately. York may be socially inept, but he isn’t that thick. They’d recently had a few heart-to-hearts, after all. Relationships can get unsettled, tectonic plates shifting. They find a fixed position again, eventually. It’s nothing to worry about.

She regains her bearings, for whatever reason. “Have you seen Willie anywhere? Kaysen’s asked me to find him. Says he can’t find Willie anywhere. I stopped by the Ingrams’ and the hotel, even crawled into that doghouse in Kaysen’s truckbed. It’s been hours. I’m...a little worried.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t seen or heard anything regarding Willie, Emily.”

She sighs, rubbing her face. “Whatever. I just think it’s strange. Kaysen’s pretty calm about it, but he’s calm about everything, I guess. I’ve never seen him without that dog before.”

“He probably got sidetracked. Dogs are...persons in their own rights. He may have just caught onto some smell, and got distracted. Willie seems like a smart dog, so I wouldn’t worry too much.” He slides a hand down his steering wheel. “But if you’d prefer I call my friends at the bureau over a missing dog, I’ll gladly do so.”

“Hard to imagine you having friends.” She props her forearms on his rolled down window, offering a lopsided smile.

“Just one,” he says.

She hesitates, looking away from him with a half-open mouth, before turning her eyes back. “Right. I guess so. Do you know if...Zach...has heard anything?”

York blinks. “I don’t believe so. Why would Zach have heard anything?”

She shrugs, frowning. “I don’t know. I know you said he’s your friend, so...”

She says it like she doesn’t believe what she’s saying. Ah. Well, people have made all sorts of assumptions, before. That’s why it’s a personal matter. A lot of people don’t ‘get’ what he and Zach have. “Zach and I have been together all day,” he says, “so I don’t think he’d have heard anything about it.”

“Do you think,” she says slowly, face concentrated, “I could talk to him?”

Hm. That’s a new one, isn’t it, Zach?

“Why would you want to talk to Zach? I’ll ask him tonight, after I’m done with my business.”

“Well, I just. Maybe he’d know? I’ve never talked to him, anyways, so.”

“Zach’s very shy." He gestures idly with his hand. “He doesn’t like talking to most people. He prefers to stick to our priorities. I think that’s fair, isn’t it?”

She stares at him.

What’d he say? Any ideas, Zach?

Nothing, really? Maybe Zach’s just trying to spare his feelings.

_ How would you feel about talking to Emily, Zach?_

\--No, wait. Don’t answer that. No need. Zach gets incredibly cagey about anything related to Kaysen. York isn’t sure why. Neither is Zach. That’s for the best, though. Probably.

_ Do you think she likes you, Zach? She’s been very keen on you, ever since I mentioned your name. Ever since I tried to tell her about you._

Mm. Zach didn’t like it very much, when he did that.

Understandable, really.

Zach likes discretion. Privacy. A symptom of shyness. He is a bit of a shut-in, York supposes. He knows he’d get stir-crazy, if their positions were reversed. It’s for the best that they’re different people, with different needs. They can complement each other. Zach is better at coming up with game plans, York is better at executing them. A perfect match.

York reaches into his slacks and pulls out his pack of cigarettes. Emily wrinkles her nose preemptively. She’s cute, isn’t she? She has a cute face, and she’s smart and kind. A little too serious, maybe. But she’s her own person. _We’re all different, aren’t we, Zach?_ “I don’t think you’ll be interrogating Zach for any information,” he says around his cig, lips squeezed tight on one side. “Like I’ve told you. We’re always together.”

She nods, squinting as he lights his cigarette. “That was probably insensitive of me,” she says, after a moment. He hums, frowning. Any idea what that means, Zach? “Anyways. I’ll see you around. If you see Willie, could you take him to the police office? Kaysen’s there with George.”

“Of course, Emily,” he says lightly.

“We’re on a time limit.” She folds her arms across her chest. “I know you think you might know better, but we really can’t afford to leave anything or anyone unaccounted for, when there’s a killer on the loose.”

“I understand, Emily. Don’t worry. We’ll wrap this case up as soon as we’re able. Have some faith in my methods.”

“If I understood them, maybe I would.”

York laughs. Emily doesn’t.

“Right.” She sighs, turning away. She offers a limp, waving hand. “I’ll see you, Agent York.”

“Goodbye, Emily.”

She sends a backwards glance at him. “And Zach,” she says absently. “I guess.”

He hums. “Yes, goodbye, Emily.”

He watches her clamor into her car and start the engine, driving down the road at a legal speed.

“That was polite of her, don’t you think? Most people don’t bother saying goodbye to you,” he muses.

Emily had seemed receptive to him when he told her about Zach. She still seems somewhat receptive about it, now. Interpretation is tricky for him, sometimes. Emily isn’t a victim or a perpetrator, the two categories York understands better than anything else in this world. He doesn’t really understand her. Emily is strong, though, and she’s earnest. He knows that much. She’s a very good person.

Hopefully not goddess-levels of good person.

A weak shiver works its way down his spine, from nape to tailbone. He takes a long drag from his cigarette.

“You know, Zach, the longer we’re here, the more this is like that one case, in 2007,” he mutters. “Though I suppose you don’t remember it. Grisly. It even got to me. All women, of course. Sometimes, I wish--” He stops, grimacing. “Well. Never mind that. I guess I was probably alone, for something like that, anyways.”

Well. He’s never _really _alone. Zach is like a comforting blanket over his shoulders, even when they don’t talk. Even when Zach has his eyes closed. It’s better that way, anyways. Zach had been with him for that, even if he had fallen silent during certain events.

“I don’t feel like talking about it, Zach." He sits up. “Forget I said anything. --I’m not mad, of course. I’m just tired. It’s been a long day, after all.

“Let’s go back to the hotel. Who knows? Maybe we’ll find Emily’s missing person. Well, pet.”

\- - -

“You didn’t see Willie, did you, Zach?” he asks as he closes the door to his hotel room. “Polly said she hasn’t seen Kaysen since this morning.”

Of course not. Why would he have? They never leave each other. They see the same things, move with the same limbs, eat with the same mouth.

“Mm. I know you don’t like the topic." He takes off his suit jacket. “And I can’t blame you. The initials, Zach. The coffee’s never wrong. We just don’t want to misinterpret it. Who knows how many F.K.’s are really in this town?”

He’s hungry, he realizes as he hangs his jacket in the closet. He hasn’t eaten since breakfast. That’s no good. “You should have said something, Zach.”

Oh well. Things like that slip his mind. He has some spare lollipops in his suitcase, he’s pretty sure. They’re not much, but they’ll keep him from starving through the night, he supposes.

“Either way, I think it would do us some good to spend some time together, tomorrow.” He slides his tie off of his neck, hanging it next to the jacket. “Take our minds off of divisive things. I suppose Emily should be an off-limits topic?”

Or not. Maybe it’s better if it’s a point of discussion. Just to keep things out in the open.

“Or maybe we could talk about it a little more,” he notes. “No accusations or assumptions, though. We both like Emily, after all.”

There’s a squirmy feeling in his gut, frantic and easily squashed. He stutters, walking to the bed. “Excuse me, Zach,” he apologizes. “You know it’s never my intention to discount your intuition.”

These things do happen, from time to time, though. It’s instinct to York, to crush certain uncomfortable sentiments. It’s like the 1987 RoboCop movie. Not that he’s some revived cyborg with a former human identity, of course, Zach. It’s not so literal. It’s more like negative feelings are “crimes” and he’s “cleaning them up,” so to speak.

Not his best analogy. Maybe he just wants to watch RoboCop again. That would be fun, wouldn’t it, Zach? When’s the last time they’ve seen RoboCop? Not since high school, he bets. RoboCop, now that came out the same year as Superman IV. Beat it at the box office, too, he thinks. It was definitely more memorable than Superman IV, that’s for sure. And the practical effects were pretty great. He wonders if there’s an uncut version of the film out there, with all the gorey bits in tact. They should look into it.

York kicks off his shoes and slips under the covers, rolling over to rip his belt from his slacks. He wouldn’t have even bothered, if it hadn’t been digging into his hipbone. The sick feeling in his stomach rises again, insistent. He acknowledges it with patience, this time, nodding his head.

“There’s no need to get jealous,” he says to the dark ceiling of the hotel room. Zach doesn’t need to say anything, for him to understand. Zach’s always been more high maintenance than him, and he’s come to accept that. After so long together, dealing with it is as natural as breathing. “You and I’ve got one thing, Emily and I’ve got another thing. It’s hardly even a thing, wouldn’t you say? I’m not really sure what to make of it. You know I don’t really get women.”

No, but neither does Zach. They have their respective strengths, but neither is really a ‘people’ person, when it comes down to it.

“Let’s not let this get between us. I’d prefer that, wouldn’t you?”

Of course Zach would. Zach is generally very agreeable with him. Zach trusts him maybe a little too much. He smokes too many cigarettes and doesn’t take enough showers. If Zach trusted him a little less, maybe they’d be able to function on a more socially appropriate level.

But that would open Zach up to a whole slew of dangers York isn’t sure he’s willing to permit.

He has his purpose, after all. The reason he exists. The reason they’re such good friends.

He’ll try to take more showers. He can’t make any promises on the smokes. Oral fixation and latent anxiety, a list of descriptors head doctors have given him during psychological assessments. Nothing serious, but it is an addiction. “Nicotine,” he says to the empty air. “A filthy business. You don’t like the smell, right? But you never complain. Not once. I know, though. I notice, Zach.”

Wouldn’t hurt to smoke a little less, maybe. Get better at aiming a gun, too. Zach does a lot for him, despite his reclusive nature. Zach is like...bedrock, York supposes. A foundation for both of them. Like soil, that roots can plant themselves in.

He licks the roof of his mouth, grimacing at the acrid aftertaste of a half-finished cigarette. Zach isn’t soil. York isn’t a plant; neither of them are. No, they aren’t. They aren’t.

“Zach, there’s no use thinking about it.”

There’s an insidiousness to plants, isn’t there? They suck the nutrients from the soil. Parasitic.

“Zach, please.”

Though he supposes there are a lot of ways of examining the relationship. Context is important. Consent. Even fucked up things can suddenly be rendered okay, with the addition of consent. He’s certainly thought about that, before. Many times. Cats and mice, or murder, for instance.

** _“Zach.”_ **

His thoughts still. A placid lake. The air is fuzzy with bad spirits. He won’t look out the window. The monsters may or may not be real, but it doesn’t really matter. They can hurt him, and that’s enough for him. “Thank you, Zach,” he says, fingers fumbling across the bedsheets for a pack of cigarettes that he left on the table. His hand flops like a dead fish, before going limp.

It’s important to purge certain thoughts, thoughts that shouldn’t exist. Even if they’re important thoughts. They aren’t productive, and they can do lasting harm. York is instinctively vigilant about such matters. Things don’t get to him the same way they get to Zach.

They’re always looking out for each other. Of course. They’re best friends, after all. But York knows, at the end of the day, he’s the one who has to protect Zach.

No matter what.

Showering, right. He can do that. Change his suit, shave his face, eat more than canned pickles and half-full jars of tomato sauce. Zach deserves better, if nothing else. He puts too much faith in York. York, as always, feels like he could take a little more guidance from Zach. Maybe Zach could help him pick out some food from the Milk Barn that isn’t junk food or canned preservatives, tomorrow. That would be good. Then fishing. Something to clear the dirt from his head.

Dirt. There’s something murky in his brain, swimming around like a shark that’s scented blood.

No.

That’s off-limits. That’s behind the door, Zach. It’s outside the room. Sorry. Even York doesn’t know what’s out there. And they’re both better for it. Focus on tomorrow. Food and fishing. Then they’ll have their priorities reoriented for the investigation. Zach comes first, before all other things, even work. Emily won’t be a distraction, after he and Zach have spent some good quality time together. They always come out feeling closer. They’re all they have, after all.

Crying in the closet, a voice yammering that is so familiar that it gradually becomes foreign. When they first met. York attaches no emotion to such a memory. It’s only fact. And facts don’t hurt. They just are.

If he could touch Zach, he would. He’d take Zach’s hands in his and sit together in silence, on the couch, listening to the rain. Zach deserves so much, doesn’t he? Zach deserves to live in a mansion, instead of being cooped up in a single room. Zach should be set loose in the woods, and allowed to run like a wild, living thing. Zach deserves the whole world.

“I’ll do better,” he murmurs to the dead air, shrill with static. It swallows up his drowsy voice. He folds his hands over his stomach, fingers lacing together tenderly. “I promise, Zach.”


End file.
